


Love (Actually...)

by Mozzarella



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Life Partners, M/M, Marriage, No Romance, Queerplatonic Relationships, Yes they get married, but they have This Is Good And We Should Continue Feelings, kind of???, lots of love, they don't have Big Romance Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: In which Dorian and Bull don't fall in love the way they do in the stories- but that doesn't mean they can't build a life together.Easing into love is so much better than falling into it.(in which Bull and Dorian skip romance in favour of loving each other when they realise they just WORK)((aka the Best Friends Have Sex, Get Married, and Spend The Rest Of Their Lives Together Fic))





	1. Varric Needs To Pay Them Royalties

**Author's Note:**

> The fic version of this post I made on tumblr: 
> 
> https://muchymozzarella.tumblr.com/post/187526187319/consider
> 
> Basically, Dorian and Bull don't fall in love, but they like each other and spend so long together that they kind of just... don't stop being together. And there's love, but not the kind they tell stories about.

Falling into bed had been easy, in a way that the rest of Dorian’s time in the South hadn’t been, with too many strapping, sometimes-handsome men wary of mages and wary of Tevinters in ways that limited his options significantly.

When The Iron Bull had offered to scratch that unattended itch of Dorian’s when Cadash first began teaming them alongside her Warden sweetheart, he had to go through great lengths to hide his interest, his refusal of the Bull’s advances hinging solely on the inconvenience of sexual relations in a tent in the wild. When they finally returned to Skyhold weeks later, celebrating their victories over particularly onerous Freemen with an excess of swill that Dorian would never admit to liking, with a small sip or two of the flammable poison Bull insisted was alcohol, falling into bed felt like the easiest, most comfortable thing Dorian had ever done since becoming part of the dread Inquisitor’s inner circle.

It turned out an even greater boon when, even with both of them slowed by half-drunkenness, The Iron Bull proved to be a masterful lover, skills honed from many conquests anyone willing—which at this point, was half of Skyhold’s staff and a handful of feisty soldiers.

The aftermath was only half-expected, since Dorian had learned in the time he spent around his compatriots, that the inner circle was made up of irredeemable gossips. He knew to brace himself for mockery that was mostly just friendly ribbing, which Dorian felt safe in assuming only for the company, who, apart from Vivienne, didn’t tend towards overt cruelty.

What he did not expect, however, was how quaint their presumptions could really be.

“You know me, Sparkler, I’m a sucker for a good love story. Tevinter and Qunari, long at war, and you two move south and find each other, defying all the odds and falling in love,” Varric said, waving his hand like an orator on a stage of his own imagining.

“Ah, love. How droll,” Dorian deadpanned. “I thought perhaps the South was perfectly aware of sexual congress without involving sentimental feelings, but I suppose I cannot be too surprised, given that I receive more hugs from Cadash in a day than I’ve received from lovers my entire life.”

Varric chuckled. “You gotta admit, the whole setup screams Bestselling Love Story. You gotta let me do it, maybe improve Tevinter-Qunari relations along the way.”

Dorian sighed. “If you like. I’m enough of a pariah as it is, anyway, without the wild fictions of a mad dwarf.”

“Whaaat? So you didn’t suddenly fall madly in love with me after the third orgasm, and we didn’t pledge our lives to each other with the stars shining overhead, the moon full and bright, and maybe even a comet passing over the sky for good measure?”

Dorian huffed as Bull clapped a hand on his shoulder, sitting opposite from Varric at the bartop.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the _second _night for confessions of undying love, amatus,” Dorian sighed, long and overdramatic. 

“So is that a yes on the rights?”

“Only if we get a cut of the royalties, Varric.”

It was… fascinating how much nuance was missed in the face of Ferelden simplemindedness, but Dorian couldn’t really complain when he began receiving stiff yet heartfelt congratulations for finding love with one so different from he, their distrust of the pompous Tevinter mage somehow balanced out by what they perceived as his _humbling _romance with what most believed to be a Tal-Vashoth mercenary.

The Bull was a master manipulator, allowing his perfectly crafted persona of a large, stupid, yet undeniably jovial Ox-man to grease the wheels of southern interaction. Dorian doubted few people would be all that bothered to learn Bull was Ben-Hassrath—most didn’t even know what that really entailed, outside of Tevinter, Rivain, and the troubled city of Kirkwall.

Even if Dorian did fall in love with the Bull, he doubted that love would survive a direct order from the Qun to take him out if it was seen as part of their nebulous _greater good. _Dorian had no illusions about that. They’d laid their cards out since the beginning, and whatever lies the Bull might spin, Dorian was fully aware it was never going to be personal. That was part of the risk, and the sex was too good for Dorian to really regret it.

“If you were given the order to kill me from up top, how would you go about it?” asked Dorian one day, after they recovered from an athletic bout that resulted in Dorian needing to repair his sheets. It was an absent-minded question, more an academic concern than anything.

“Depends on what the orders entailed,” Bull said, shrugging. He got up and took a washcloth from the now-cold basin near the bed and started wiping Dorian off, before getting to himself. “If they wanted it to look like an accident, I’d make sure you got offed on a mission, or somewhere you had the habit of visiting so people wouldn’t be suspicious. Maybe get you drunk then pitch you off the side of the ramparts, on the broken edges so it wouldn’t look odd.”

Dorian snorted. “Easy enough, I suppose. What if they repaired that area by the time the order came?”

“Down the stairs. We’ve got big ones up here in Skyhold.”

“Fair enough. But what if no pretence was required? What if the Qun suddenly decided to start their fabled incursion of the South and you didn’t have to worry about how it’d look?”

Bull lay back down beside Dorian on the wide bed, one that was just enough for both of them to lay comfortably. He put one enormous hand on Dorian’s neck and wrapped around it, squeezing lightly.

“Bas are generally smaller than we are. Breaking the neck is easy. Like breaking a thick twig. Even if it was someone bigger, we get taught this method that the Viddhathari learn, where you take a hold of the base of the jaw and brace against the collarbone, turn the head fast. Snaps the neck without needing to rely on brute strength alone.”

Bull had both hands on the sides of Dorian’s face, and Dorian chuckled.

“Just like that? Don’t want to make me pay for the dormitories full of kids I’m sure some bloodthirsty magister burned down on Seheron?” he said, though his amusement was tempered by an appropriate amount of gravity.

Bull took a moment to smirk, relaxing his hold on Dorian’s neck and jaw, giving him a lick right underneath the bit of hair under his lip.

“Nah. I can get worked up about a group, but individuals are a different story. And you’re too soft and sweet to have done half the shit those assholes got up to. If I had to kill you,” Bull said, growling against his ear. It shouldn’t have been so attractive, but Dorian had never been remotely appropriate, no matter where he was. “I’d make it fast. I like you too much to make it hurt.”

“Oh, now don’t tell me Varric and the kitchen staff have gotten to you, and you’ve fallen madly in love with me,” Dorian chuckled, pulling Bull into a playful kiss.

“Nah. I just like you. You’re a good guy, and this works for us. I’d miss the sex, too,” Bull said, and Dorian shoved him hard, knowing it wouldn’t do much but pull a hearty laugh out of the man, who mollified Dorian’s ruffled feathers when he wrapped around him, keeping him warm in the ever-chilled mountainous South.


	2. Romantic Notions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romance makes for good PR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying so far ;) Definitely feeling inspired for this, and I wanna finish it quickly so as not to lose steam. 
> 
> Mild warnings for oral sex that's largely glossed over in this chapter. It's what that Mature rating is for!

Southern stupidity didn’t always tend towards kindly paths, it seemed. Dorian found this out the hard—well, inconvenient—way when he received news, from some onerous soldiers that had been sent his way by a huffy, buxom-breasted barmaid, that The Iron Bull was no longer sleeping with the plethora of willing partners lining up at his door.

They accused him of ensorcelling the poor brute, for why else would a man who could accommodate the needs of so many suddenly shut it all down, even long after they’d heard tell of their budding relationship as the love story Varric had taken particular pleasure in writing.

“I’m afraid you’d have to ask the Bull himself. I’ve not given him any ultimata about his sexual proclivities, only that I’m not willing to join more than two people in bed if I can help it. For one, his bed’s hardly big enough to accommodate it, and for another, I’m not as young as I used to be,” Dorian had said lightly, and the soldiers, though blessed with that special brand of well-meaning Ferelden mulishness, looked more confused than angered at Dorian’s statement.

“Don’t know what he sees in you,” said one freckled young man who looked to be just Bull’s type, with his sunset-coloured hair. “Never seemed like the posh type.”

“Maybe they were right,” said another, a hardy-looking fellow who had the dullest looking face of the lot though based on his next words, Dorian judged him the most intelligent of the four that had him cornered. Which wasn’t saying much, all said. “Didn’t Mister Tethras say somethin’ about the two being joined under the Maker to teach those uppity magister types a lesson or some such?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. Damn that dwarf.

“Dandy’s just mad she can’t ride the ox anymore, looks like,” the man continued. “Don’t need spells to know what’s pretty.”

“Lovely as it is to know my personal affairs are being aired to all of Skyhold and sundry, does this mean we no longer have any issues to hash out, gentlemen and lady?” Dorian asked.

“Maybe he likes mouthy and superior,” said another of the soldiers, shrugging her armored shoulders, sending the others into fits of laughter. “Sorry to disturb you, then. Concerns of citizens, and all.”

“Of course,” Dorian said flatly.

* * *

“You are a stressful man to sleep with, The Iron Bull,” Dorian announced when they next met up, Dorian walking into the Bull’s room like he owned the place, making Bull look up bemusedly from where he sat at a desk, writing what appeared to be Ben-Hassrath reports with a single eye-glass perched on his cheek.

“Worth it, though,” said Bull easily, bringing his focus back to his work. Dorian was tempted to look over the man’s broad shoulder to peek at his reports, but it seemed like a foolish endeavor, to try to get one up on a spy. “Lemme finish this and I’ll suck you off for your trouble,” he added, and Dorian shrugged, sitting on the bed and getting to work pulling off his boots.

“You won’t even ask me what the trouble is, then? Just assume I deserve recompense?”

“Something to do with people in Skyhold, I figure. Talking, annoying you, assuming we’re in love, assuming you did some weird Vinty stuff. Possibilities are endless, but likelihoods have a smaller pool based on recurring issues,” Bull said absently, the scratching of his pen consistent in the quiet of the room.

“Have all the answers already, it seems,” Dorian sighed dramatically, remaining quiet for the rest of the time it took for Bull to finish his work.

When Bull finally got up, a bit of a grunt given for the stiffness of his injured knee, Dorian was dressed in a simple tunic and nothing else, allowing Bull to part his knees to find him naked from the waist down.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dorian said archly, raising a brow and gesturing to the knee when Bull made to kneel. “Up. I’ll go above.”

Bull conceded, stretching out onto the bed with his head on a pillow, at a perfect distance from the headboard to keep his horns from knocking into anything. Dorian climbed over, knees on either side and thighs bracketing Bull’s face.

“I thought it was bad form for a spy to assume anything,” Dorian said curiously, braced against the headboard.

“Sure, if there’s stakes to getting it wrong. But patterns exist, and I see ‘em where people don’t hide. And you’d be surprised how much you hear when people don’t know how good your ears are, or think you’re too stupid to care,” Bull said before getting to work mouthing at Dorian’s exposed cock.

“Mmm, I suppose that makes sense,” Dorian, sighing and closing his eyes as Bull got to work, swallowing him down easily.

“Any reason… you’ve stopped gracing others with your considerable sexual prowess?” Dorian asked when he felt his orgasm building up and Bull’s hands came up to guide his to his horns, giving him leave to get a literal handle on the speed of his mouth as he started to thrust.

It was only after Bull got him to come in his mouth, cupping his balls with one overlarge hand and massaging the sensitive space between cock and hole with the meat of the same hand.

“Figured you’d like it. Don’t humans have a thing about monogamy?”

“Yes, but I don’t really expect you to abide by human social mores while we warm each other’s beds,” Dorian said, swinging one leg over and getting up on shaky footing, pouring from the jug of drinking water Bull had on the table and handing it to him to drink. “We aren’t married, Bull. I don’t expect faithfulness.”

“Well,” Bull said after swishing and swallowing. “Guess it’s just nice to know someone’s always up for a bit of fun. And it’s always a lot better when it’s someone you can trust to have your back in a fight.”

“Oh, don’t tell me this is another Qunari practice between warriors.”

“Hey, no Tamassrans out on the battlefield. What do you think?”

Dorian huffed. “So that’s it then? It’s just… nice to sleep with someone you fight with?”

“Dorian,” Bull sighed. “Don’t overthink it.”

Dorian felt the odd pressure in his stomach ease, something he hadn’t even known he’d been holding in until it was out of him. “Ah, such sterling advice from the Ben-Hassrath. Shall I expect instructions to look the other way while you bring the knives out to stab me in the back?” he said lightly in jest.

Bull ignored the comment, pulling Dorian by the arm flush against him. Dorian near purred, revelling in the larger man’s warmth.

“I like you,” Bull said quietly, his voice a rumble under Dorian’s cheek. Dorian propped his chin up with two flat palms under his chin, looking up as Bull looked down. “And we work. Hard to turn off worrying someone’s a plant when I’m sleeping with strangers. And you know what I like, I know what you like. Maybe I’m getting lazy, but we’re comfortable. I just decided to stop fucking other people, and maybe they’ll stop expecting it of me if they think we’re an item.”

“An item,” Dorian said, bemused. “I’m sure all of Skyhold knows we’re having sex at this point, Bull.”

“I meant the romance thing,” Bull said, tweaking Dorian’s nose lightly, to his chagrin. “Makes you and me look softer. Nicer. If we’re in love, we can’t be that bad. You’d be surprised how much that kind of shit sells down here in the South. You get treated less like shit and I get more opportunities for information. Works out for both of us.”

“Ah, Southern sentimentality. It’s almost sweet how eager they are to believe love conquers all, that grand romances against all odds really do happen no matter how inconvenient. As if a sweet dalliance could trump survival or comfort. Or duty, for you, I suppose.”

“Ha. Maybe with Fereldens. Wouldn’t put it past them to break and remake the world for love.”

“Rather,” Dorian agreed. “For all that they smell like dog and wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit them on the ass, Fereldens are such dreamers. Maybe the South is rubbing off on me, but that kind of attitude really does make me think such a love story could work.”

“If it’ll work for anyone…”

* * *

When Dorian observed Blackwall surreptitiously entering the Inquisitor’s chambers, only for the two of them to emerge later, the Inquisitor in her softest clothes and smiling warmly at the man who blushed under his beard the whole way, he felt an odd sort of detachment, wondering what it was like to be in love with a good man.

Dorian had been in love before. He wasn’t frigid, and sometimes he was perhaps too passionate, especially when he was younger and took any scrap of affection from a man as a declaration. Those fluttering feelings, like butterflies tickling the inside of his stomach and making it feel like his gut would fall right through to the floor, were not present now, when the Bull came up through the stairwell gave Dorian indication of his arrival that Dorian knew he could mask easily, and then pressed his bulk against Dorian’s back, resting his chin atop Dorian’s head.

If Bull had any sort of feelings as strong as what Dorian remembered in his youth, it was probably for touch, than for any single person. He loved touching. Dorian had always felt wary of it, but the man was free with his affection without needing anything in return beyond permission, and Dorian allowed himself to relax under the pressure.

“You stocked up for Adamant?” Bull asked tiredly. He’d been assisting with prepping soldiers for the coming battle. Ten years of experience in an active warzone made him more qualified than any other soldier in their ranks, even veterans and leaders like Cullen. Whatever he’d said gave the soldiers, both old and new, a grim sort of determination, a vast improvement to the haunted-eyed skulking of many.

“The trek may be more difficult than the battle, with how much siege equipment we’ve been promised from allies,” Dorian said, idly stroking the hand where the Bull was missing a few half-fingers. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, you’re dead on your feet and I’m not liable to carry you all the way.”

When they arrived, Dorian knelt in front of the Bull where he sat on the bed and began removing his brace, soothing the knee with heat from his palms and a bit of oil for good measure.

“Shit, marry me,” Bull groaned. Dorian laughed delightedly.

“How many years in the south and this is what you believe marriage is? An exchange of sexual favours and a few good massag—hm. You know, never mind, you’re probably on to something.”

When they finally settled, with Dorian splayed across Bull’s front and absorbing his heat, Bull murmured, half asleep, “Shit goes wrong fast in sieges. We gotta be careful.”

“We’ll be with Cadash. You, myself, and Blackwall. Two distance fighters, two front line fighters. It is, as you say, a good combination,” Dorian assured.

“Still. Shit goes bad. Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m always cocky.”

Bull sighed deep, which made Dorian shift up just a little on his chest.

“I’m trying to tell you I want you to be safe.”

Dorian felt the dry humour just on the tip of his tongue, a quip about how Bull couldn’t hide his sweet, twee notions of romance from him any longer, but he refrained, noting the hard edge Bull was a master at hiding from others, when all he wished to be was jovial and friendly, just enough of the soldier coming out to command respect from troops.

“Same to you,” he said instead. “We’ll have each other’s backs. That, at least, is a comfort. And Cadash’s otherworldly good luck may rub off on us as long as we don’t stray too far.”

Bull huffed, the action moving Dorian just a little on his front.

“Weird ass fade crap might as well be good for something.”


	3. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian helps Bull with the horrors of the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting just a little meatier than I first anticipated but it should remain as short and sweet as I expected! Hope you guys are having fun <3 
> 
> My Cadash is very much not my canon playthrough, but that just means I get to put in interesting little story bits that deviate.

Adamant was… trying. Having to fight through demons and Wardens was hard enough, though Cadash had the presence of mind to appeal to the Wardens’ sensibilities and have a number of them fall back and assist with fighting the demon hordes. It was all the more harrowing when they went from falling to what were undoubtedly their immediate deaths, if they were lucky, to a sudden and unwanted trip into the Fade.

To say that Bull wasn’t happy with being tossed into the Ass-End of demon town was the biggest understatement of the century. At least, he considered as he swung an axe at a semi-solid wisp, he could work through his issues by killing shit, which always made complicated feelings feel straightforward and easy.

That was until the nightmares started to appear, and Bull had to fight blinding terror in order to access his reaver rage. What he saw brought Seheron back—ten years of fighting that he could focus down and compartmentalize and shut away with the clean precision taught to him by his reeducators, and his worst fears and experiences from that time were quite literally crawling out of the woodwork.

The only thing that kept him grounded in all this was Dorian, who seemed largely unmoved, fighting with his usual flourish and vigor, as if it was just another fight out in the Dales and not in the middle of a Nightmare demon’s lair.

“How bad is it?” Dorian asked, breathless from the fight. He stayed close to Bull on his blind side, Cadash leading from the front alongside Blackwall while Champion and Warden took up the rear.

“You tell me,” Bull evaded. Dorian chuckled without humor.

“Whatever you’re seeing is clearly getting to you,” he said. “What… what is the nightmare showing you?”

“How about you tell me yours before trying to dig into othersWhat’s it showing you?” Bull countered, keyed up and on edge. Dorian only tsked, unaffected by Bull’s need to start a fight.

“I’ve trained with other necromancers to perfect my craft,” said Dorian, as if explaining it to a slow child. “We’ve tested the less lethal spells on each other. Horror, in particular, is a rather harrowing experience when cast by a powerful mage. We learned to resist it as much to cast it, and it was worth a few nightmares to know that a bit of magic couldn’t send me over the edge.”

Bull grunted, but he nodded to let Dorian know he understood where he was going. Dorian smiled blandly.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re unmoved. The Fade is bad enough for you, isn’t it? Qunari don’t dream?”

“We train not to,” Bull said.

“Yes, well, I train to protect myself from demon possession, and to defend against literal horrors. I’ve been in the Fade before, though it was much more decadent and much less… wet and green. Even if I’ll admit, I’ve never been here physically, a lot of things and theories are familiar. What I mean to say is…”

Bull almost jumped when Dorian’s hand clasped his arm, he was that keyed up. Dorian could never surprise him when he was usually so attentive, but this whole place was just fucking him up royally.

“I’ll protect you. Trust me,” Dorian said firmly, and Bull relaxed by increments under his hand. He let it slip down and the two clasped hands firmly, more tension easing right out of him as his shoulders fell from where he had it nearly up to his ears.

Finally more aware of his surroundings, Bull gave a cursory glance to the two coming up behind them and saw the Warden—Alistair, was his name—looking baffled at their joined hands. He ignored the looks and focused in on the touch, grounding him enough to pull himself back to calm.

“Different things. Kids. Poison. Tal-Vashoth, and the men I couldn’t save on Seheron. I lasted almost ten years in that place, and they’re the reason I broke,” he said quietly.

“You seem rather put-together for a broken man,” Dorian said, too gentle to be much of a dig.

“Put-together, ha. Funny you should say that. It’s what the Qun did. What the reeducators did. Put me back together after the shit I saw. After I went on the worst reaver rampage I’ve ever had and bathed in the blood of my enemies while surrounded by the corpses of poisoned children and alone after all my men fell in battle.”

His grip was tighter now, and he worried he might crush Dorian’s hand if he wasn’t careful, but Dorian looked for all the world like they were simply taking a stroll in Skyhold garden.

Dorian gave a quiet note of assent, then sighed. “This might seem like the most obvious thing in the world for me to say, but bear with me,” he said. Bull shrugged, but motioned for him to go on.

“This place feeds on your fear. The more you fear, the more they feed, the worse it gets. But when you start getting smart to their game, understanding that what you see is nothing more than an illusion of your own making, they start to affect you less. You start to see the cracks. All you have to fear,” said Dorian, huffing softly in almost-amusement, “is fear itself. And no matter how bad it gets, think of it as I do—the nightmare, for me, is no more than an onerous, badly-behaved creature with a superiority complex that has never been managed, no more troublesome than a magister. I do not doubt its power, but the only power it has over _me _is what I allow it.”

Bull opened his mouth to retort, but Dorian looked so confident, stood so tall, that he maybe thought the guy was on to something. After all, whose lead could be better to follow in a situation involving weird ass fade crap than a mage as skilled (and careful) as Dorian?

“Right, so… mind over matter,” Bull said, still skeptical.

“To a point. I cannot promise you won’t see horrors, but it’s like… a funhouse mirror, if you’ve ever seen one of those.”

“Can’t say I have, Vint.”

“I’m surprised. For the circus tent you have for pants… but anyway, you know how a distorted mirror can change the image?”

Bull nodded.

“Then think of what you see as distorted mirrors to your own mind,” said Dorian. “But nothing more. I’d say they cannot hurt you, but that’s untrue. They just… aren’t real. Not the way you think. Just real enough to kill.”

Bull stopped, suddenly, but Dorian didn’t seem too taken aback—waiting patiently for Bull to take deep, calming, meditative breaths, before steeling himself. He then gave Dorian a bit of a smile (a brave face, as his Tama once called it), and leaned down to kiss him, brief but firm, and Dorian smiled encouragingly when he pulled away.

“Tell me I’m not hallucinating this,” their warden friend piped up. “Or has the Fade suddenly decided my worst nightmare is seeing a Tevinter magister and a Qunari have passionate relations in front of me?”

“I’d consider that the opposite of a nightmare,” Hawke said aside, laughing at the dirty look Alistair threw her. “But no. Varric told me they’re star-crossed lovers of some kind. Admittedly, I thought he was having me for a fool, or exaggerating, but now I’ll believe everything he tells me. The nug king probably exists, at that.”

“The what—?”

“Mera!” said Blackwall, startling them all out of their conversation. When they looked to the head of their party, Mera looked dazed, standing in front of a broken mirror. “Are you alright?”

“If I told you I feel way better than I did a second ago, will you think I’m crazy?” said the Inquisitor, looking puzzled but no worse for wear.

“Perhaps the Fade decided you deserve a few gifts to make up for the rain of shit it’s about to drop on all of our heads,” Dorian suggested airily, giving Bull’s hand one last squeeze before the two parted, not moving far.

“Don’t test it, kadan,” Bull said, chuckling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Mera Cadash btw! https://66.media.tumblr.com/22490d1d8caac1aaa8438d10b6b8f0fd/tumblr_pxldikdz1G1ro4n3eo1_1280.png  
https://66.media.tumblr.com/f627126f19e259aff785589141991476/tumblr_pxldikdz1G1ro4n3eo2_1280.png


	4. True Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which hard choices are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so weird that it's been more than a week since I updated. Sorry for the short chapter, but I needed to get this out so I could keep the ball rolling! 
> 
> Fudging timelines so that Demands of the Qun comes before The Last Resort of Good Men ;P Because I want to. Hope you enjoy!

Losing Hawke in the Fade had not gone over well with Varric, and tensions had been high between him and Mera—though when it came to Varric, even tensions couldn’t stop him from sharing a joke or a drink.

But those closest to him saw the change, and saw how much Mera regretted the choice. Or, in the very least, the fact that it had to be hers.

“We’re fighting a hell of a war,” Bull said when Dorian remarked on it. “And he said it himself—the shit heroes get up to, he shouldn’t be surprised if something shitty happens along the way. Sucks, though. They were friends for… what, a decade? Hard to let that slide.”

“I just don’t think it’s ever come down to someone else’s decision,” said Dorian, shrugging. “If the party came home one day and I was told that Mera chose to let you die at the hands of some beast over her lovely warm Warden body, I’d be more than a little cross.”

The side of Bull’s mouth tugged up into a smile. “You old softie,” he muttered, dragging Dorian by the waist to sit on his lap as he sat up on the bed.

“It’s up to a leader to make the tough choices,” Bull said, shaking his head. “Sucks to be her.”

“If you had to choose between… hm. Myself and your rambunctious company of misfits, who would you choose?” Dorian asked, scratching Bull’s horns at the base where he liked.

“The Chargers,” Bull said immediately. Dorian paused in his ministrations, but looked more thoughtful than upset when Bull met his eyes.

“You had that answer right on hand, didn’t you?” said Dorian, and Bull sighed, hoping Dorian would give him the chance to explain before he stormed off in a huff. But he stayed where he was—surprising, though at this point Bull shouldn’t be so shocked by how unexpectedly understanding the man could be.

“Good,” Dorian said softly, continuing. “I thought I’d be offended, but… well, I’d rather you had all of them to keep you going than one of me.”

“I’ve done a few of these thought exercises before,” said Bull, leaning into Dorian’s touch. “If I had to choose who died, what would happen if Thedas fell under the Qun, who would I prioritise saving if everything was on fire… all these things, I’ve had to consider. Sometimes it’s just a numbers game—how many more people can I save? What’s the best of the worst outcomes?”

“There’s always the third answer,” Dorian said.

“Yeah?”

“Nobody has to die,” Dorian said, tracing the scars down Bull’s ruined eye, “except the ones forcing you to make a terrible choice.”

“Clever Vint,” Bull said, chuckling in disbelief. “You really think you can reshape the world just like that?”

“Bull, we work alongside a woman who can literally open and close this realm with her hand,” Dorian said, amused. “Changing the world is the least we can do.”

* * *

When the impossible choice came, it wasn’t between Dorian and the Chargers, something Bull found himself perversely grateful for, in the end. He didn’t know if he could make the choice without breaking.

That was something he never told Dorian. He would choose the Chargers over him, but some part of him would break and never come back together, and Dorian wouldn’t be around to hold him through it. He wasn’t brave enough to fight for a third choice, to cut the line on which his life and future hung and decide to have everything he ever wanted.

He wasn’t brave like Dorian was.

He hadn’t known what truly wanting was, when everything could be put away in favour of the Qun and its greater good.

But now, that was gone, sunk into the wreckage of the lives he allowed to go to waste for nobodies and misfits that he’d somehow grown to love.

He didn’t even feel it when Dorian turned one hand (the one not clutching the horn he had blown to signal a retreat like a lifeline, hard enough to break) over and slipped his own against Bull’s palm. He didn’t notice until he finally tore his eyes away from the flaming wreckage and saw Dorian standing by him, studiously looking nowhere but at the horizon, even as Gatt stood nearby, looking murderous.

Cadash had looked at him pleadingly when the choice had to be made, and Bull knew in the split second that he considered leaving it to his superior, his Inquisitor—he couldn’t make her do it again. Not put the lives of others on her shoulders, when she already carried so much. She was the boss, but more than that, she was his friend, and so, so very young, still.

And they were _his _men. _His _responsibility.

All he could think about the moment he put his horn to his lips was the day his Tama—wise and scholarly and just a little too clever and just a little too proud that he took after her—told him he would make a wonderful Tamassran if he wasn’t such an asset to the Ben-Hassrath.

He could hear every word Gatt spat at him, but none of them penetrated. Only when he heard Cadash—loyal, sweet, loving Cadash—spit back, “His name is The Iron Bull,” did he react, squeezing Dorian’s hand in assurance. When Cadash came near, Dorian drew away uncertainly, looking to Gatt with caution and anger in equal measure.

Even Cole, standing by with knives still in hand, looked ready to strike if Gatt tried anything—though his expression was as passive as ever. Cole, who, even more a spirit than he ever was, was loyal to their group, part of the strange family Cadash had put together herself from disparate elements and puzzle pieces that never should have fit.

And with a Vint wrapping an arm around his waist and the literal wreckage of his old life left burning away behind him, a creepy demon kid and a dwarf with a hand full of magic that could shape the world standing by him, Bull felt anchored. Felt safe, in a way that he’d never imagined becoming Tal-Vashoth could ever be.


	5. Hearth Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they love, and love, and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kinda bad for taking this long, but I'm glad to get this up now! Here's the bits after Demands of the Qun, and the leadup to The Last Resort Of Good Men. Hope you guys like it!

Bull knew what love was, and for all of his life, he knew that it was only ever part of a greater equation, and never the grand, powerful thing bas made it out to be. Love was a tool, meant to be shown in moderation. The love of a Tamassran, caring for her charges, to help them grow into their best selves and find their true role under the Qun. The love of the Antaam for their country, fighting and staying true to their greater purpose. The love of friends helping each other, true cooperation keeping peace and balance away from the greed and pettiness of bas.

So many stories out of Ferelden, out of Orlais, and even Antiva and Nevarra and Rivain, the ones that were called “love stories” and “romances” made it out to be some kind of all-encompassing force that was able to topple entire civilizations, but all Bull got from the same stories was that love, to those outside the Qun, was just another kind of madness with the potential or proof to be dangerous as well as useful, like Orlesian politics.

He supposed he had no place to think of it so now, when the madness overtook him long enough to decide that the needs of the few outweighed the needs of the many, and he sacrificed a Dreadnought for his Chargers, whom he loved.

Love was terrible, but he’d given everything up for it. And it was hard to feel regret above the sheer relief of the decision he made.

“I never got why you gave up your entire life just for love, before,” Bull said thoughtfully. Dorian looked up in surprise, wiping sweat from his brow as he leisurely warmed Bull’s cock with his mouth, resting it on his tongue and keeping him half hard.

Dorian popped off the tip and licked his lips, looking thoughtful.

“It wasn’t just about love, though I’ll admit that was a big part of it,” said Dorian, leaving his previous job in order to lie beside Bull, at level with his face. “It was more… knowing who I was, and being expected to go against everything I knew to be true of myself in order to live a lie. That wears down any man eventually. I could lie about many things, but I couldn’t lie to myself. And doing good and helping save the world are obviously a great bonus.”

Bull huffed. “I thought I knew who I was until I was on top of that cliff,” said Bull. “Then it was like I knew nothing at all.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Dorian softly, caressing the side of Bull’s cheek softly, almost tenderly. “I think you’ve known exactly who you are for a long time, but you pretended that that was simply a disguise you put on, instead of the person you had become. It took me a long time to understand that my identity wasn’t something I could just take off at the end of the day when I needed to get back to my life. Your life just took this long to catch up.”

Bull mulled that over in silence, going so long without words that Dorian settled against him, breathing easing slowly.

“Where’d you learn to be so wise, Vint?” Bull said quietly. He felt Dorian smile against his skin, even with how thick it was.

“I’m not,” Dorian laughed, “though I will never admit it to anyone else. I know everything, you see.”

He sobered just a little, continuing, “You always seemed so sure. I envied it at first, and wanted to learn from your surety when I felt so very insecure. I wanted to be as certain as you seemed to be. I admired you even when I was sure you’d stab me in the back eventually, and that’s how I learned.”

“Don’t know how you ever tricked anyone into thinking you’re arrogant when you never admit when you did something amazing yourself,” Bull said, amused.

Dorian looked thoughtful, puzzled, before he sat up, gaining Bull’s undivided attention.

“I think I love you,” Dorian whispered. “Isn’t that funny? I haven’t fallen in love,” he added quickly when Bull opened his mouth, whether to tease or to question. “I know what that feels like. Excitement. Butterflies in the stomach and ropes around the heart. Passion. The certainty that everything else will fall to the power of this overwhelming emotion. But when I look at you, I only feel… sure. Warm. Safe, even. Like the love I knew before I realized I was more tool than family to house Pavus. I love you, Bull. Do you…”

Bull took his hand, pressing the palm to the centre of his chest. “I feel safe, with you,” he murmured. “I feel whole. Moored, when I thought I’d be lost. Is that what love is? Is it dependence? Fear? I don’t have any context for what this is, but I know I don’t want to lose it.”

“We’ve rather mucked this whole falling in love business up, haven’t we?” Dorian laughed.

“Isn’t it better to know after a testing phase that our love works instead of falling into it?” Bull wondered teasingly.

“Well it’s just not very exciting, is it? Much too sensible to just spend time and realize we work. The world of romance would scoff at how matter-of-fact we’ve approached cohabitation.”

“What do you think? Marriage?” Bull said, and Dorian gave him a warm, wide grin showing his well-kept teeth and shook his head.

“Oh no you don’t. If we cannot have even a modicum of romance in our ongoing affair, I’ll have to demand it in our inevitable proposal. Put in at least a little effort to woo me,” said Dorian dramatically. Bull pulled him down without warning and they were both giggling as they settled.

“Operation woo the Vint to commence immediately,” said the Bull in his best Antaam voice, setting Dorian off once more.

* * *

“Hey, Dorian,” Bull said suddenly as they walked the ramparts to the main keep. “Go on ahead without me. I’ve got something to talk to the boss about.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t we be meeting her in the great hall, then?” Dorian asked curiously. Bull shrugged, leaning down to give Dorian a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll tell you everything later, okay? Right now, I just need you to go.”

When he pulled away, Dorian looked puzzled, a bit concerned, but Bull just gave him a smile, slight but warm. “Trust me, okay?” he murmured, and Dorian nodded, pecking him on the lips.

“I do. But I’ll be very cross if you do something stupid without my knowledge. I’ll sic Krem on you if you do,” said Dorian, sounding a bit grumpy.

“Love you, Vint,” Bull chuckled, and he sent Dorian on his way with a light smack to the ass that made the man smile just the littlest bit, though he walked off in a theatrical huff anyway.

* * *

Dorian sat in the library, feeling restless, and he was there for all of twenty minutes when he heard Cadash’s short but quick footfalls as she ran up the stairs leading to his alcove, panting as she looked at Dorian, wide-eyed.

Dorian felt his heart clench just a little, but Cadash shook her head immediately against his look of concern and just a little dread. “He’s fine. But he’s gone and done something stupid and you need to tell him to stop giving me heart attacks. At this rate, I’m going to die of stress before I even hit thirty.”

Dorian willed himself to calm down, patting Mera’s shoulders reassuringly. “Where is he?” he asked, and Mera directed him to the infirmary. “Go to your Warden, or go to your rooms, or both. Rest, now. I’ll make sure he pays for making you worry,” Dorian said lightly.

“You better,” Mera said, but she was smiling as she went off, and Dorian’s purposeful strides and thunderous expression had everyone clearing his path to the Bull, who was just coming out bandaged from the new facilities Cadash had built dedicated toward healing.

Dorian slapped him across the face when he saw the Bull’s whiter pallor and the extensive bandaging spotting with a little blood. He then lay his hand gently over the bandage.

“You fool,” Dorian said. “You absolute, bull-headed, self-destructive idiot.”

Bull laced their fingers together, and smiled against their joined hands. “I’m okay. Thanks for trusting me, Kadan,” Bull said.

Bull spent the rest of the day resting in bed, and he told Dorian everything, as he promised.

“Do this again,” Dorian muttered, unwilling to let Bull go for even a moment, “and I’ll stab you myself.”

Bull heard all the love Dorian felt for him in those words, and reveled in the warmth that they made bloom inside him, radiating out from the center of his chest.

* * *

During their next spar, Krem was able to hit Bull in the face and claimed that Dorian had asked he “Knock some sense into the lummox.” With the Vint warrior having struck him hard enough to knock him to the dirt, and his (hale, hearty, whole) company jeering at him from the sidelines, Bull couldn’t have felt more proud if he tried.

* * *

“Our love is like a hearth, amidst forest fires,” said Dorian one day, eyes flying across the pages of an old Tevene poetry book.

“Nice. Who’s the author?” Bull asked curiously, trying to squint with his one eye.

“Nobody. Well, me, I suppose,” Dorian said wryly. “Cassandra lent me this poetry book she found while helping Cadash retrieve a dwarf merchant’s wares in the Hinterlands. Terrible sap that she is, I’m unsurprised she held onto it, but it’s certainly a marked improvement over the trash Varric writes. One of these poems speaks of love like a forest fire—devouring, destructive, burning bright but meant to die. Rather bitter, but not entirely untrue for many, especially in Tevinter. We are, after all, a passionate people.”

From where he rested his head against Bull’s thigh, Dorian looked up, smirking. “Not to say I don’t feel passion for you, mind,” he said, shamelessly pawing at Bull’s crotch. Bull chuckled, tracing a thumb under Dorian’s chin before slipping it between his parted lips, feeling his tongue against the calloused, warrior-rough skin.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Dorian groaned, knocking his forehead against Bull’s thigh before sitting up reluctantly, gesturing for Bull to stay seated as he went over to the door.

“You weren’t at the library,” said Cadash in explanation as Dorian found her on the other side of the door. She looked down at a letter in her hands, biting her bottom lip and looking troubled.

“You look a sight, my dear Mera. Are you alright?” Dorian asked, ushering the dwarf in. Bull made space for her on the bed, and she sat down, still clutching the letter tightly.

“It’s… a letter. For you,” said Cadash, holding it out slightly creased.

“Oh, is it a naughty letter?” Dorian wondered teasingly as he opened it and read. “I never thought you would have such boldness, Inquisitor, but the world is full of surprises.”

His eyes sped over the words written within, and the furrow in his brow deepened with each line. His fingers tightened their hold, and he looked thunderous at the end. Bull could almost see the fire coming from his fingertips threatening to burn the paper in his hands, but Dorian refrained, instead setting it down beside him and gritting his teeth.

“What an amusing jest he has concocted,” Dorian growled, “to appeal to the good graces of a Southern cleric who believes me the representation of all living evils, and to send a retainer because he couldn’t be _bothered _to handle his own affairs.”

Before Bull could open his mouth to ask, Dorian took the letter and shoved it into his hand. “There,” said Dorian testily. “Do not ask me to explain it, or else I fear I shall coat this room with frost or set it on fire with every asinine, offensive, shortsighted word written on that page.”

Bull glanced at Cadash, who looked shame-faced, and as she asked Dorian questions, he read through the letter with interest. He frowned at what he found there, and the elegant signature that marked the letter as coming from Dorian’s father.

Even now, Dorian hadn’t told him why he left Tevinter. The most Bull knew was that his father didn’t approve of him, which was something he could’ve guessed himself, with how Tevinter was, and how Dorian was, but there was always something else there—some old pain that Bull didn’t want to pick at, that Bull suspected would eventually come back to bite them.

“Let’s go then,” Bull heard Dorian say. “If it’s a trap, we kill everyone. We’re good at that. And if it’s not, well… I have a few things to say to this man, and I only wish my father were there to hear it. It’d burn his ears right off.”

“Great,” said Bull, catching both Inquisitor and mage’s attention. “When do we head out?”


	6. Halward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Pavuses talk about the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness, though I figure I'll mostly be late :P but I do still absolutely feel that I will finish this fic in a handful more chapters. And that wedding is definitely happening!

After the initial outrage had worn off, Dorian felt oddly calm as they made their way to Redcliffe. He had a suspicion… but he had to wait until he actually arrived to see if he was right. Even after everything, he and his father had been close enough that he liked to think he could, perhaps, predict the man’s choices, now that he had a clearer head. 

Apart from the one time he hadn’t, but that had been under the assumption the man still catered to his better judgment and moral compass. Now, Dorian wasn’t under any presumption of such, and he felt fairly confident he knew what he’d find once he stepped into the tavern. 

Bull was a comfort throughout the journey. He suggested that Dorian ought to tell his father he was marrying a Qunari, if only so he could inflict a heart attack on his father that would admittedly make him feel a little better about the whole affair. Dorian fairly considered it an option when he remembered the entitlement in his father’s missive, but for some reason, using their eventual, promised marriage in such a way seemed to cheapen it in ways that planning it together without romantic notions ever could. 

When they arrived, Sera and Bull waited outside while Mera insisted she enter the tavern with Dorian,  _ just in case.  _ Dorian wondered if she had the same thought of Magister Pavus’ motives as he did, or perhaps she was simply worried for his safety, worried that his father would trap him and take him back to Tevinter against his will. 

Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable of such deception, but Dorian would kill every last man his father had on hand before going back against his will. He had no qualms, now, knowing what awaited him under his father’s power. 

When they entered the empty tavern, Dorian slipped the staff off his back and Cadash put a hand on her throwing daggers, ready to sling the bow off her back at a moment’s notice. 

“This doesn’t look good,” Dorian muttered, right before a figure emerged from the stairway. Familiar, and disappointingly unsurprising. 

“Dorian.”

“Father,” Dorian said flatly. 

“I apologise for the deception, Inquisitor,” Halward Pavus began, but Mera interrupted him with a “tcchh” noise, disapproval right from the back of her teeth. 

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” she said coldly. “Or talking to, for that matter.”

“I do believe Magister Pavus has forgotten his manners in his time away from the Imperium,” Dorian said, shaking his head. 

Halward sighed, as though disappointed. “This is how it’s always been,” he said, sounding like the long-suffering father one might feel sympathy for. The way Mera’s scar tugged under her lip told Dorian that it wasn’t working on her, loyal friend that she was. 

Dorian felt annoyance bubble from the base of his throat, but it was overwhelmed with a certainty he had never felt when dealing with his father, one he could leverage with the comfort of a friend at his side and more ready to give them assistance right outside the door. 

“Well, at least we’re both disappointed,” said Dorian, raising his chin. “You don’t like that your son gives you lip. I don’t like that my father has no moral compass to speak of. I suppose that concludes this meeting,” he went on, turning his back. 

“You’re leaving?” Halward said from behind him, sounding shocked. 

“I’m sure we have better things to do than accommodate a magister’s ego,” said Dorian to Cadash, not bothering to address the other man. 

Cadash looked uncertain. 

“If he came all this way, it must be for a good reason,” she said slowly. Dorian gave her a wan smile. 

“Oh, I can already guess what reasons he had. He thought he might ply me in some way to go home with him, forget that he tried to use blood magic on his own son, and pretend like he has even a modicum of integrity after years of preaching against the practice.  _ The resort of the weak mind,  _ he said.”

Mera had gasped when he mentioned blood magic, and she went paler than he’d ever seen her, hand now behind her back and clutching her bow tight.

“He used blood magic on you,” she murmured, and Dorian hummed. 

“Dorian, please,” Halward begged, and he sounded so… weak. Desperate. Nothing like the immovable figure of Dorian’s childhood, nor the frightful spectre of his last betrayal. 

Dorian turned, and what he saw was a weak, old man, aged beyond what he remembered when he left Tevinter, the last vestiges of his mask giving way to desperation and fear. Fear of what, Dorian wondered, though he already knew the answer. 

Fear of Dorian walking right out the door. Fear of not being able to say his piece. 

Dorian might have felt sorry for this wretched man, once. 

“We should go,” Cadash said. 

Dorian wanted to say yes, but he found himself saying out loud, “Say what you need to say now. If I am dissatisfied with what comes out of your mouth, I will be out that door, and you will never see me again.”

All this, he said without looking at the man on the other side of the room. He heard him take a deep, shuddering breath, before the response came. 

“It is more than I deserve,” said Halward, sounding defeated. Dorian inclined his head, finding his father’s face from the corner of his vision. The older man seemed to take this as a signal to continue, and he stumbled over his next words. 

“I wanted - I hoped to see you again. To hear your voice. I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I wished… I… betrayed you,” he said finally, and Dorian turned fully, looking him dead in the eye. 

Halward flinched. Dorian had seen him stare down the archon without doing that. 

“What I did… it was unforgivable. I thought I was doing right by you, but losing you… it wasn’t worth that. It wasn’t worth anything. I saw that you were unhappy, and I thought that this would fix things. But I was wrong. There are no words for how much I regret what I did to drive you away.”

Cadash looked like a nug who was unexpectedly thrust into sunlight, her eyes wide and uncertain and just a little fearful. Dorian sighed. 

“Is that all?” he said at length. 

“Will you… be staying with the Inquisition?” Halward said, testing the waters, but sounding truly exhausted - a sign of genuineness Dorian had been listening for. 

“As long as I am needed,” he said, looking into the middle distance. “Perhaps longer than that. Perhaps forever.”

“You are happy, then?”

This, out of all the things Halward Pavus had said this day, was the one that caught Dorian most off-guard. It was heart-wrenchingly sincere. 

“I am,” he murmured. 

“I would see you home,” said Halward, “and you would be welcome. But I would not try to take you from your happiness. I hoped I could find a way to bring you back, but I am the only one to blame if you do not come.”

“I miss Tevinter,” Dorian confessed. “But I don’t trust you. I can no longer trust the man I called father, I cannot live under his roof and be beholden to him.”

“You are still my heir, but I have no power over your choices. I was deluded to think I did,” said Halward tiredly. “Your mother misses you as well, but she is as convinced as I have become that you will not return home. She does think, however, that you would be kindly inclined to your own accommodations, or to board with Maeveris. I know you two have kept in contact.”

“And how do you know that?” Dorian asked, hackles rising.

Halward held a hand up for peace. “She told me,” he said. Dorian relaxed slightly. “We are, after all, political allies. She knew not what I had done, only that I had driven you away. She told me of the good work you’re doing scoring out the rot that infects our nation, told me to tell you you are welcome to her home, if I ever spoke to you again. Her words.”

“It sounds too good to be true,” said Dorian, shaking his head. “License to return home without fear of my own father hunting and bleeding me like an animal. The freedom to stay, and still have ownership of all that falls under the family name. What is the catch?”

“I have lost any right to negotiate,” said Halward, shaking his head. “There is no catch. Only that I wish to see you choose what you believe is right for you. I thought I lost the chance forever.”

Dorian considered him in wary silence. The problem was, he sounded entirely sincere, and exhausted by the emotions that came with it. 

“Mera,” Dorian said softly. Mera seemed to understand exactly what he needed. 

“We’re all right outside. If I don’t hear from you in ten minutes, we’re breaking the door down,” she said, side-checking his hip on her way out. Dorian smiled warmly with unbridled affection for his good, loyal friend and leader. 

When they were alone, Halward stepped forward one, two steps, but stopped there, silent and waiting, gaze low. It was a show of such great restraint that Dorian couldn’t help but be impressed. 

“Do you know that I am engaged to be wed?” Dorian said after a while, and Halward looked up sharply, eyes wide. 

“What-” he began, but Dorian went on, shaking his head to stop his questions. 

“It was rather informal, and more a discussion than anything. He is a man, before you think for a moment I might have suddenly changed all of myself for someone else’s convenience. But he is good to me, and more importantly, I love him. We are good for each other, in ways that you might have once tried to force with mother. I am lucky to have him. Despite all that you have done, you are still the first person I thought to tell when I realised we were both serious,” Dorian said, sighing. “My own failure to hold a proper, justified grudge.” 

Halward said nothing, only nodding slowly. 

“Are you happy?” he asked, again, and Dorian chuckled entirely without humour. 

“I am, you know. And perhaps if you forgot to be terrible, you might be able to see it. But I don’t think even your newfound patience and humility could stand the utter horror you might face, seeing your only son wed the man he loves,” he said, pausing briefly in thought before continuing, “especially when that man was formerly of the Qun.” 

Halward looked ready to stumble, his hand reaching out to touch a nearby chair with feigned casualness that belied the fact that he clearly desperately wanted to collapse into it. 

“A Viddathari?” His father sounded tentative and fearful. Dorian felt both sickened and amused by the satisfaction that brought him. 

“Do not pretend you do not know what I mean,” Dorian said, though his tone came out softer than he intended, his gaze turning to the window. 

“If this was intended to punish me, then you have succeeded,” said Halward, reedy and exhausted. 

“Oh, good,” Dorian said. “I was worried for a moment that you’d sent a house slave with your face, so simpering were you acting in my presence. The arrogance is familiar ground. But no,” he said firmly. “The life that I have built in the South, my joy and my friendship and my love, have nothing to do with you. By your own actions. I am to be wed to an honourable man, a Tal-Vashoth who gave up his homeland for the greater good and for the love of his family, and because he held fast to who he truly was. I can only hope to be so brave. These are things that will happen, regardless of your own wishes or your hopes for a better legacy.” 

“Were it that I could be a fraction that brave,” Halward said at length. He seemed to give up his pretence and sat in the chair, aging ten years when he didn’t stand tall and proud as a magister ought. 

“Tevinter is in danger,” he continued. “And I would have you come back to take my seat, for I myself have no delusions of how long I have, trying to oppose those zealots that wish for a bloodier homeland. And I would want you to have the political power to take them on, and be an ally to Maeveris.” 

At this, Dorian felt less in control. These were things he wanted too, but not more than the happiness he had found.

“The Inquisition will destroy Corypheus,” Dorian began, and Halward nodded, but spoke in turn. 

“I do not doubt that either this Inquisition will destroy the ancient magister or that he will destroy the world. Either way, he is not so much the concern as what he has accomplished in Tevinter, and the supremacists he has empowered. I have failed as a father and as a man, but I do what I can to ensure that my homeland doesn’t fall into ruin, with those who have failed less than I. Maeveris is still powerful, even after everything she has done against the politicking of Tevinter, with her womanhood, and her marriage. If I cannot change your mind, I should hope you have the same aptitude for avoiding assassination, and accomplishing them, as she does.” 

“So you wish me to go back, and have a role in Tevinter politics?” Dorian asked, sitting across from his father. 

“I would not dare to take you away from a life you wish to make for yourself, but I also know that you are a brilliant, strong man,” said Halward. “Capable of change in a way I don’t see in weaker, pettier men and women of the Magisterium. I want you to have power, and a future, in the home we both come from. You will remain my heir, and I will have no other. Use or squander that position as you please. I only wish to know that my son is… well, no matter what he thinks of me.” 

Dorian looked down at Halward’s aged hands folded on the table. 

“I cannot even bear to touch you,” he said. “But if it means anything, I wish I could.” 

Halward said nothing, but he looked awed even in his tiredness. 


	7. Duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Blackwall become friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! I'm probably still gonna be a bit busy with another fic, this time for the upcoming Adoribull 2020 Big Bang, but I am absolutely ploughing my way through to finish this one. Especially now with all the time I have with uhhhh being laid off due to COVID :P 
> 
> Don't worry though, I'm in a good place right now. Just gotta deal with some small logistical issues.
> 
> I finished the first half a little while ago, but it was too short, and I got inspiration for the second half as soon as I started thinking about that dang duck. 
> 
> Enjoy! And stay safe and healthy!

Mera was standing right outside the door when Dorian finally stepped out, leaned so far that she almost bumped her forehead when the door swung open. 

Magister Pavus had stood at the door when they got on their horses to leave, and though he didn’t really need it, Dorian accepted the help when Bull gave him a hand up. The Qunari looked over to where Dorian’s father stood, eyes slightly narrowed in attention (though it could be attributed to the bright midday sun, if anyone asked), and gave a jaunty wave, the smile on his scarred face bland. Dorian had to hide his laughter, delighted and disturbed in equal measure when his father responded with a surprisingly civil acknowledging nod. 

Sera asked (threatened, really) if she could put an arrow in the lord mageybits’ arse as soon as he turned to leave, but Dorian quietly asked her to leave it be, and said nothing for the rest of the trip back to Skyhold. 

When they got back, with Dorian mechanically making his way to the tavern, body taking him up to Bull’s room while his mind was far away, Bull waited until they were both inside before he got Dorian’s attention by standing directly in front of him until he noticed. 

Dorian looked startled when he realised, about a minute later, and when he looked up, Bull smiled softly and opened his arms. 

“Wanna hug?”

Dorian didn’t even roll his eyes at the objectively silly question. He simply sighed, walked forward until his face was buried in Bull’s ample bosom, and sighed even deeper, tension seeping out of him until he was a limp lump of adult human weight in Bull’s warm embrace. 

“The worst part is, I still love him, and I’m still happy I got to see him,” Dorian said at length. Bull navigated them both to the bed without letting Dorian go, sitting down then lying back with his legs over the side, Dorian splayed across his chest. 

“Not like I don’t get it,” Bull said. “Assholes in the Ben-Hassrath sent shit assassins for me and gave me a bad job just to make a point, but if they decided I was worth getting drinks with I’d be over the moon.”

“You might be the only one who actually does get it,” said Dorian. “Or perhaps the only one I know well enough to make that claim, I suppose. Point’s proven either way.”

Bull grinned, then was quiet for a minute, looking thoughtful. 

“You wanna invite him to the wedding, huh?” Bull said, and Dorian was hardly surprised that he could read him so well by now, even if he hadn’t been a spy. 

“I should be angrier,” Dorian said. “Knowing I can withhold my happiness from him, knowing I have that power now, because he  _ loves me  _ and I can use that against him. But I think about my life now, and I can’t even summon the anger. I’m just… tired. Even of the anger.”

“Hey,” Bull said gently. “I’m proud of you.”

Dorian chuckled. “This is your fault, you know.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’d have been content to be petty and cruel and really given my father what he deserves for his transgressions, had you not been here with your… comfort, and your support.”

“Mm, yes, I do tend to ruin things with good hugs and great sex.”

“Is it silly? For me to want this of someone who betrayed me?” Dorian sighed. 

“Eh, I think most Bas things are silly,” said Bull, and Dorian smacked him lightly in the chest as he propped himself up and rolled to the side. Bull grabbed the hand on his chest before it could pull away and kissed the fingertips, one by one. “But that doesn’t mean you should feel ashamed about wanting to smooth things out, especially with someone you care about.”

“Starting to sound like Cole, a little, there,” Dorian mused, and Bull gave a full body shudder. 

“Good kid, but don’t ever say that shit again,” he said, and Dorian laughed. “You could pick principle over selfish caring, sure. But if I did that, I’d definitely still be Qunari, and I’d be short my boys. But it ain’t like that for everyone. Lot of guys picked the Inquisition over family, because it means something. Everyone’s different, everyone makes their own decisions. I can’t hate a guy who picks their family over duty, or duty over family. It’d make me a hypocrite otherwise.”

“Ah, the paradox of free will,” Dorian sighed. “But yes. I do want him there. For all his crimes, I was overjoyed when Mera let Alexius live so he could research magic for her. He had been very much a second father to me, for a long time, and I loved Felix so dearly that I couldn’t bear to see his father suffer more gruesome fates. And when the crime was against me, that he should try to act against me, I don’t truly wish to hold it over his head. I just want him to see me. See me happy, and why it mattered so much that I defied him. I had a whole life loving him, and now that I have the opportunity, I want him back in it.”

Bull hummed thoughtfully, looking at Dorian beside him. 

“How fucked up do you think he’ll be to see his son marry a man, let alone a Qunari?”

“Oh, utterly. It will be fantastic to see him try not to shit himself throughout the whole ceremony,” Dorian said, light in his eyes dancing merrily as he rolled over onto Bull’s front. “Something to look forward to,” he sighed, already sounding as though a weight had been lifted. 

* * *

When Cole left a wooden duck on his bed, Dorian felt the quick pang of fear at being so known, then charmed at the thought, turning the thing over in his hands and feeling around the beautiful woodwork. He wondered where the spirit had gotten it, and a theory sprouted in his mind that found him down, down in the stables where the stink of mounts and the stink of a certain unwashed Warden made his nose wrinkle. 

To be fair to Blackwall, however, he’d at least started smelling less… well, like a stable, when he started spending more time with the Inquisitor. Still not up to Dorian’s standards, as if he could ever achieve it, but not so much that Dorian couldn’t handle coming up to him as he polished a rocking griffon to a smooth shine. 

“I was wondering if you’d perhaps lost one of your flock,” Dorian said, holding the duck out as he eyed the other little animal facsimiles in various degrees of complete on and around his workstation. 

“Ah. Cole gave it to you, then?” Blackwall said, taking the duck with its lovely swirling wing patterns painted yellow along thin lines and using a thick thumbnail to try and smooth out its edges.

“Oh, good. I was worried he perhaps stole it from you and made you forget. I think having him be more a spirit has made him forget most of Varric’s lessons on how not to mess with other people’s belongings.”

“It’s fine, Dorian,” Blackwall said. “It’s a gift, from him. And, well, me.”

Blackwall rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I heard about what happened. From Mera. She told me not to say, but then Cole came and asked if I could make something to make you remember happier things. Said this would do it, though I don’t really know how to put in wheels. Only worked with wood, not the usual metal bits.”

“So you made this… for me?” Dorian said, nonplussed, but touched nonetheless. “It’s rather well done. If this Inquisition business doesn’t pan out, you should run a shop.”

“Sure, if lordlings like you or those fops in Orlais give me good coin for it. But yes, Dorian. It’s yours, from me and Cole.” Blackwall handed the duck back, and put a firm hand on Dorian’s shoulder, which startled him just a little. He couldn’t remember a single moment they’d ever touched like this, barring Blackwall moving him out of the way during a fight. 

“Thank you, Blackwall. I am glad Mera has you, for all that we can’t possibly be friends,” Dorian said, putting a friendly hand over Blackwall’s on his shoulder. 

“Can’t we?” Blackwall said, and Dorian gave him a smirk. 

“Only if you bathe a few more times, dear fellow,” he said, and Blackwall only gave him a light jab of the elbow in response, a hint of a smile under all his beard. 

“Family… it’s complicated, I know. I’d give… well, I don’t know if I’d give up everything to see the ones I miss, but I’d give a lot. And if the man is willing to change for you, well… I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t say maybe it isn’t a bad idea to give him that chance.”

“I suppose many Grey Wardens do have those juicy terrible dark pasts,” Dorian joked, and Blackwall seemed to flinch back as he removed his hand. Dorian, aware he probably hit a nerve, continued  without missing a beat to move conversation away from the topic. 

“I was a child,” said Dorian, turning the duck over in his hands. “A spoiled little boy. A little too cruel, and much too self-absorbed. Little lordling brat, as you can imagine.”

“I can,” Blackwall said, chuckling away the dark that had come over his brow. 

“I had a caretaker. Well, let’s not mince words. He was a slave,” Dorian said. It was testament to their amiability that Blackwall said nothing, allowing him to go on. “Who had served the household for longer than I’d been alive. He was old when I was a babe. He took good care of me. I remember he said to call him Hahren, though I know now that wasn’t his name. His daughter, Alina, was a scullery maid, always going out into the markets. She’d sneak me little candied dates that she brought back. On my sixth naming day, I received so many extravagant gifts, got presented to all the rich families. I’d come into my magic at 5, and everyone was so proud, trying to curry favour with my father and giving me books, magical tools, anything to encourage this.”

Dorian stroked an idle hand down the flank of an unfinished griffon. 

“But at the end of the day, when I was tired from all the boring song and dance… Hahren picked me up to carry me to bed. He and Alina sat me down on the carpet of my room and presented me with this little thing, wrapped in torn sack cloth, not even a proper package to present to the son of a high ranking Magister,” Dorian said, putting on airs he didn’t feel. “And it was this little duck on wheels, with a string to pull it by. A child’s toy. Dwarven make, so it was good, even if it was clearly cheap. In my short life, I don’t think I’d ever been so happy before. It was my favourite toy for a good long while. I remember when my father first saw me playing with it. Maker, I thought he would be angry. Take it away. I was, after all, too grown up for such things.”

Blackwall snorted. Obviously he didn’t share the same sentiment, which Dorian could have guessed even if he hadn’t seen him playing with the children of Skyhold.

“He… didn’t. He encouraged me in my studies, disciplined me as any father would, especially one with such lofty expectations for his son, but of the matter of the duck he kept silent. He…. accepted that I loved it, despite it not fitting into the image of the perfect Altus child he had of me,” said Dorian softly. 

The little duck in his hands now could rock like the griffon when he put it down and let it swing back and forward on the table. Dorian smiled. 

“I suppose that was what Cole saw, when I came back. A child, happy that his father might care enough to accept his son’s wishes, even if he might not abide by them.”

The spell was eventually broken, and Dorian took the duck up once more, cradling it in one hand. 

“Thank you, Warden,” he said. “This isn’t exactly the happiest talk, but perhaps if we cross paths in the tavern we might find something more suitable to drunken merrymaking. Perhaps with Sera.”

Blackwall looked pensive, perhaps not entirely because of Dorian’s story, but gave him a friendly nod of agreement as he left. 


End file.
